Empire of Gold

‘Thanks,’ said Mac, leaning forward to pick up his glass. His left leg creaked faintly, metal and plastic rather than flesh and bone; he had lost the limb from the knee down in Afghanistan. He took a sip of whisky, then looked round the sunlit beer garden. ‘Nice afternoon for a trip to the seaside. I’m glad you called – it was looking to be a rather boring day otherwise.’

‘Any excuse to get out of work, right?’ said Eddie, grinning.

‘Hmph. I wish. The jobs from Vauxhall Cross seem to be drying up of late.’

Vauxhall Cross in London was the location of the headquarters of Britain’s Secret Intelligence Service, better known as MI6. Since his retirement from the military, Mac had on occasion worked for the agency as what was euphemistically described as a ‘consultant’, even though some of his operations had been very hands-on. ‘Really?’ said Eddie. ‘Alderley not appreciating you, is he? Miserable sod. After everything you’ve done for him . . . ’

Mac shook his head. ‘Peter’s not the problem. It’s more that everything I’ve got to offer – contacts, local knowledge, intel . . . it’s all getting a bit out of date. The whole world’s moving on, Eddie, and when you’re not at the centre of things you start to get left behind, unfortunately.’ A small sigh, then his expression changed to one of curiosity. ‘And speaking of being left behind, you seem to have been abandoned by your other half. Where’s Nina today?’

‘Glastonbury. Work stuff.’

‘And you’re not with her?’ Eddie’s lack of an immediate response told his friend volumes. ‘Things all right with the two of you?’

‘Just having a rough patch,’ the Yorkshireman admitted. ‘You know what it’s like. Everything seems to end up in an argument. And we had a pretty big one last night.’

‘About what?’

‘My dad. We had dinner with him and his wife, and . . . it could’ve gone better.’

‘You actually met him?’ Mac was surprised. ‘A long time since that last happened.’

‘Twenty-odd years, yeah. Lizzie basically tricked me into it. I would’ve told him to fuck off when he invited us to dinner, but Nina insisted that we go. And that turned out fucking brilliantly. He hasn’t changed – he’s still an arsehole.’

‘Hrmm.’

Eddie eyed the older man. ‘Hrmm what?’

‘Oh, nothing.’

‘Bollocks, nothing. That wasn’t a “that’s interesting” hrmm or an “I need to think about this” hrmm – that was a “you’re being an idiot but it’s not my place to comment” hrmm. What?’

‘Well, since you ask,’ said Mac, sitting up with a faint smile, ‘I don’t think you’re an idiot—’

‘Cheers, always good to know.’

‘—but I know you well enough to imagine that . . . well, perhaps he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t changed.’

‘You saying I’m an arsehole?’

The smile reappeared. ‘Never crossed my mind,’ said Mac, before his face became more serious. ‘But he made the first move – he was the one who put out his hand.’

‘So?’

‘So he was trying to have some sort of reconciliation, at least. Apparently it didn’t go well, but still, he made the effort.’

‘Doesn’t mean that I should’ve been all fawning and grateful.’

‘I’m not saying that. I know there are some rather large issues between the two of you. But it could be worth trying to deal with them while you have the chance.’

The older man’s tone made Eddie suspect there was more behind his words than he was saying. ‘Sounds like something that’s been on your mind.’

A silence, then: ‘It has,’ Mac admitted. ‘I got in touch with Angela recently.’

‘After so long? You’ve been divorced for, what, seven years?’

‘Eight. But we met up a couple of months ago. It went rather well, actually.’

‘Are you thinking about getting back together?’ asked Eddie in surprise.

‘No, nothing like that – it’s been too long, too much water under the bridge. But it was . . . nice. It reminded me how much we had in common. And in all honesty, the older I get, the more I’ve realised how easy it is to lose contact with people. You can’t rely on them just being there any more – you have to make an effort. It might be hard, but it can be worth it.’

‘And you reckon I should make an effort with my dad?’

Mac took another drink. ‘Just a thought.’

‘It might get Nina off my back, I suppose.’ Eddie’s phone rang; he recognised the ringtone. ‘Speak of the devil . . .’ He answered it. ‘Hey, love. Where are you?’

‘Just leaving Glastonbury with Macy,’ said Nina. ‘Heading back to Bournemouth.’

‘Did you find anything interesting?’

‘You could say that.’ Enthusiasm was clear in her voice. ‘We need to get back to New York. I think we’re going to be busy.’